Upon the Violin Strings
by Mystique Lumiere
Summary: A short beautiful story of a teenage boy and his beloved violin, the last physical reminder of the past in which he loves and misses dearly. Written by my friend: E'tan Be'kar.


Silence.

Nothing but silence hung in the cold air. Perhaps a slender draft eased through in between the gaps in the low ceiling and walls, but all else was soundless. The hallways intertwined this way and that, with endless yards of cables which hung everywhere. Every once in a while - in the ceiling or wall - appeared a hole in which a cold light would filter through, along with a few piles of snow.

There he was. Sitting down in one of the long corridors, was him; messy platinum blonde hair, gentle brown eyes, and a handsome face with imposing youthfulness. In his left hand, he held a polished hardwood violin, his right hand held its bow. On his left side, on the floor was placed a lantern - warm and lightening. Above him, a little over to the right, was a hole in the ceiling with a colder, harsher light and a few flakes of snow falling through.

He set the bow to the strings and gently began a melody with sweeping notes, ranging high and low. His song took on a cheery tune, his expression was that of hope, and in his eyes was a faint glimmer, like a spark trying to light. But then, his face changed - quite abruptly - just as his song changed aswell. Slowly, he moved the bow across the strings as he played a solemn lament. His face matched the tune and his eyes paralleled the pitch.

Pain. Grief. Torment. Agony. These things filled his eyes like a distant memory trying to resurface. In the far reaches of his memory, where all bad things were repressed, whispered a voice that had haunted him for almost all his life. He feared it, for it was too painful to remember.

"Sosha! Sosha!"

He stopped playing the violin, his blood froze. Not again... Not again!

"Sosha! Sosha! Help us! Help us, please!"

It was too late. The memory of the distant screams of his father, mother, and little sister had already begun to fill his mind. He could still hear them as if they were occurring just then. The wails, oh the horrible, blood curdling wails. They were all he could hear as it echoed through his mind cruelly, digging into his heart. He could still smell the smoke.

"Sosha where are you?! Sosh- AAAHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream of a little girl banged around in his head and left a ringing in his ears. A huge angry tear, full of pain and grief, slipped out and streaked down his cheek, giving way to several more.

The violin and bow clattered to the floor as he curled up his knees tightly and his whole body quivered as he sobbed silently - occasionally drawing a quick breath and would sniff. Agony ripped through his heart and tore it apart, even years after the tragedy. The grief of a young man is terrible indeed, for not often do they reveal it aloud. But when they do, it pours out like a dam that had just been burst.

Feeling no more tears were there to be shed, Sosha sat back up, rubbed his eyes, and sniffed. He stared down at the violin at his feet. It stared back. His heart beat to a rhythm that was unmistakable.

"Hm hm hm hmmm, hm hmm hmmm hm hm hmmmm."

He quietly hummed the first line of a tune his mother used to sing. Her lovely soprano voice wafted through the house and would always raise his spirits whenever he was down. He loved it when she sang. It would always feel like home - when days were glad and full of joy.

He looked back to his little violin, worn and used - a constant reminder of happier times. Mustering up the courage, he picked it back up, held it to his shoulder, and set the bow upon the violin strings.

He played one note. Then adjusted a tuning peg. He played it again. yet again, he adjusted the peg. He dragged the bow across the string once again. Ah! There it is.

That small, little corridor - cold and barren - felt warm as if the lantern were a roaring fire, reverberated with a soft melody that was filled with pain, but mostly hope. Sosha closed his eyes and played the serenade by heart. A small smile began to form on his lips. He positioned himself to sing. An attractive tenor voice flowed forth.

"When I am down, and oh, my soul so weary,

when troubles come and my heart burdened be,

then I am still and wait here in the silence,

until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.

I am strong when I am on your shoulders,

You raise me up, to more than I can be!"

He continued the song by playing the beautiful melody upon his violin. His strength and hope grew with every note. His eyes reflected the very peace that had grown inside his heart. Sosha could not withhold a smile.

As the last note upon the violin strings was vibratos, it then faded to a quietness once more. Sosha embraced his instrument; his beloved last physical reminder of his family. They may have been gone, but there he stood, a legacy to their lives. He would go on and live his life, but always remember that whenever he was down, their memories will raise him back up.

As he rose to his feet, violin and bow in hand, he stepped towards the opening in the wall a couple yards away. He paused. He looked at the lantern in his other hand. He smiled, set the lantern down in between the walls of his exit, and walked away.

The small flame within the little walls of glass peered back at Sosha Baiorin, the young man who's family was taken from him at a young age. Sosha, already yards away, kept walking. The flame in the walls of glass finally blinked out, leaving only a small trail of smoke that rose into the air and then swiftly, yet gently, vanished.

The End.


End file.
